


Winter Brings Its Own Delights

by Xekstrin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Angela is a god and Moira is an eldritch abomination, F/F, Tentacles, UHHH JUST GENERAL WARNING FOR MONSTERFUCKING, also monster cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 21:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18352268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xekstrin/pseuds/Xekstrin
Summary: Afterward, the two struck a deal. At dusk on every summer solstice, the creature known as Moira would arrive. At dawn she would leave. But before that, she would give Angela one year's worth of lust, and take her own in return.But the godling was growing restless. She wanted Moira more often than one night a year.So, she made a suggestion.





	Winter Brings Its Own Delights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CyborgShepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyborgShepard/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Hot Nights, Wild Frights](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13298259) by [CyborgShepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyborgShepard/pseuds/CyborgShepard). 



> Written for my friend Avery, and inspired by Shep's amazing fics.

 

 

 

_Afterwards, Angela and Moira forged a deal to meet every summer solstice._

_And then they met every winter solstice, too...._

 

Months after that first summer solstice together, the humans left a sacrifice for her. The blood on the white stone altar made her think of Moira. Everything made her think of Moira.

Angela saw her dark eyes in the ocean waves at twilight, just before the sun plunged below the horizon and the waters boiled like black ink. In every reaching, grasping forest branch she saw the tendrils of her being, shadowy and longing. The sharp arrowhead of the hunters were her teeth. Wood groaning in the insistent, lowing autumn winds was her voice, laughter like the snap of first frost.

She was everywhere. Everywhere Angela looked, and nowhere she could touch, and after years of this, Angela thought she might go mad.

So she did what any self-respecting god would do.

She decided to write a letter.

Stretching out on an outcropping of rock, Angela looked down over the valley. Nearby she could spot a pretty shepherdess, with the mark of some other god etched below her eye. A newcomer in the valley. Angela would have to greet her properly at a later date, and see what games this stranger might like to play.

A little whistle summoned one of her servants. He sprung fully formed from a ray of sunlight, a raven with mottled gray feathers. Perching on her arm, the raven blinked at her, trilling softly when she bumped her nose against his beak.

"I have a task for you," she said. "A mission outside my borders. Deep inside the swamplands, where the trees are older than the gods. I need you to find someone. Can you do that for me, Bastion?"

The raven beeped once, clicking his assurance. Then, helpfully, he plucked one of his own flight feathers and offered it to her, the dear heart.

"Thank you, my beautiful boy."

Setting him aside, she caught a wisp of cloud and drew it down. In her hands it looked much like the fluffy sheep being herded in the valley, until she flattened it out with a breath. Pale yellow paper rustled in her hands, and she used Bastion's feather to pen the message. Angela had never been anything less than honest with her desires. She would not start now, with that strange, eldritch creature who had captured her interest all those decades ago.

The summer solstice always brought strange and wondrous visitors. The longest day of the year was built for carnal pleasures. A roaring fire. Meat dripping with fat. Drinking deep from every cup. Rolling in fragrant perfume and oils, flowers braided into ones hair.

And fucking.

So much of that, too, in every way the clever humans could imagine.

That night, just as she had been about to go hunting for a human or three to ride until the morning, Moira had come.

That night had been sweltering, but Moira's touch had felt like being dropped into an ice cold lake. Moira took Angela down on the dusty earth, worshipped her, fucked her until she was a keening mess. The dark woman was a creature old as the earth itself, if her words were to be believed, and she could twist and shape her own flesh like clay.

Afterward, the two struck a deal. At dusk on every summer solstice, Moira would arrive. At dawn she would leave. But before that, she would give Angela one year's worth of lust, and take her own in return.

 

_Moira,_

the letter started,

_I miss you._

_The nature of our arrangement is too restricting. I would like to change that._

 

Angela didn't second-guess any of her thoughts, of which there were many. It felt good to let it out into the air, out of her own head where they had been circling and strangling her for years. Just as she allowed Moira to strip her and explore every secret part of her body, so too did she bare her soul to her mysterious lover.

In the letter she expressed one thing above all others: _When can I see you again? I'm not satisfied with having you one night a year._

She signed it with her name, and ended it with an order. _Write back to me soon._

Tying the message together with a sprig of wild summer flowers, she bound it to Bastion's leg and murmured affection and urgency into his ears. His head twisted to the side, another series of rattles and croaking laughs leaving his beak. Flapping two massive wings, the raven took off, and she watched him shrink into a speck on the horizon.

Then she spent the next month brooding.

When he returned, he looked well-fed, with his feathers glossier than usual.

She tried to be calm, but the sight of a scroll on his legs made her tremble with delight. She leapt up to catch Bastion midair, a flutter of wings erupting from her own back. Rising to the pine tops, she stretched out on a length of branch thinner than her wrist. Keeping balance perfectly, she opened the letter and began to read.

 

_My dearest Angela,_

_First and foremost I must beg you to forgive my penmanship. It's been a long time since I've written anything, and I have no one here to transcribe my thoughts._

 

Angela thought the careful, swirling scrawl was beautiful. Every consonant had a hard edge, every curving vowel graceful as a bow.

 

_Now I make a shameful confession. I don't know if I am strong enough to visit you outside of hallowed days._

 

Her heart dipped.

 

_I would invite you here, but I'm afraid you won't enjoy yourself. It's a hard land and we don't hold all the delights and temptations of your valley. On top of that, my energy wanes with the dead months. Forgive me for making assumptions but you've only ever known me as a bold and tireless lover, and in the winter my body craves darkness and sleep more than flesh._

_Is there anything here that would hold your heart? Or even your interest? I don't know. And I am afraid to learn the answer._

_I miss you too. I will keep your words close to my heart to warm me until we meet again._

 

Angela had a response ready. It was much shorter than the first letter. And despite her best efforts, it sounded petulant and whiny.

 

_I don't care about that, just so long as I get to see you I'll be happy._

 

She wore down trails in her forests from her restless pacing. The people of the valley spotted her from time to time, burning with unsatisfied desire. They offered more to her, in return for her good favor, assuming they were the ones at fault for her ill temper. Grain and fruit from the harvest, and skins from the kill, and entrails, and blood.

No matter how much she ate and how much of their love she channeled into herself, there was always a sliver of hunger in her. So she gave most offerings away, thinking to turn it into a feast for her next visitor, if she had any. Humans would sometimes stumble into her secret homes, and were always so grateful for the warm bed and the fresh food and on occasion Angela herself, her sexual appetite equally voracious and just as insatiable as her hunger for blood and adoration.

She didn't like to hoard. Anything the humans gave, she would send right back. Either into the land itself, or into the people. To protect them from invaders, and make the soil easy to till, and have the harvest baskets overflow. She cured disease and injuries, taught the wise people methods to stave off sickness. That was always fun. It fulfilled her, managing equilibrium in the land.

The cycle made her stronger. The more she gave back, the more she was given in return. Soon she was bloated with power, and she relished in every moment of it.

But nothing made her happy until she saw Bastion's wings again, heard his raspy cawing.

He fluttered onto her arm, and she showered him with grateful kisses. "You work so hard for me, darling boy, beautiful boy."

Bastion clattered his beak in response, hopping to her shoulder as she read the letter.

It was short.

 

_Then come to me._

 

Attached was a map, directions laid out like Moira had burnt them to the paper.

 

 

* * *

 

 

More letters were exchanged, to cement the details of her trip and for the simple joy of being able to talk to each other. Moira's handwriting improved, and she would send tokens and gifts. Never anything heavier than what Bastion could carry, but each one felt like receiving a great treasure.

Angela made the trip alone. She left Bastion behind to protect her lands, imbuing him with most of her power while she took flight.

The mountains vanished completely. Moira's lands were uneven and hilly, but no mountains pierced the sky. Angela didn't realize she would miss them until they were gone, and she was surrounded by wetlands and constant clouds. Moira's instructions led her to a part of the world that hadn't seen her kind in a very long time.

Her own forests were not so dark and mysterious, not with such a heavy density of human activity there. These woods were untouched, with trunks wider than she could wrap her arms around. They rose up higher than she even knew possible, so old that she wondered if the first gods had carved their names into the roots. As she trekked, snow began to fall, and she smiled to see the first flurries of winter.

The cold didn't touch her, but it did make walking difficult. Just as she was wondering if it was time to fly again, she heard a crack loud as thunder.

One of the tree trunks moved, lifted up into the sky. Then it landed, soft, and Angela's eyes refocused to realize it was not a tree at all, but a massive, thickly-furred leg. And it ended in a set of claws.

For the first time in centuries, she felt fear in her heart.

Her gaze swept up, to see what kind of creature was in these deep woodlands, what ancient monster still stalked the places where even gods did not venture.

Predator and prey were both held in the beast. Sharp teeth as big as swords, and antlers stretching out like branches. Most of its body and face was obscured by the pines around them, but Angela caught a brief glimpse of two eyes. One blue, wall-eyed with fear. The other slavering red, red like an open wound or a licking tongue. Both of them spat with fire, a frenzy and a power that nothing could match. It stepped closer, blocking out the sun, and the shadows that stretched from it were grasping and familiar.

When Angela blinked, the creature was gone. Moira stood there in its place, looking tall and regal as always but not towering like a mountain, not terrifying like death itself.

["...Angela?"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UwxatzcYf9Q) she said, sounding concerned before delight made her entire face glow.

Moira opened up her arms.

Without a second thought, Angela flew into her embrace. Her feet didn't leave prints on the fresh snow. When she knocked against Moira the woman stood tall and firm.

"Moira!" she said, lifting herself up to kiss the other woman on her lips. "Was that you? You frightened me!"

"It's what the humans see," Moira said, smiling gently. "Though there are few humans who live here."

That was when Angela realized her Moira didn't look the same. The dark woman had antlers still, ending in twelve points. Tall, taller than ever before, her shapely legs were curved and white-furred, ending in hooves under the hem of her dress. One arm embraced Angela, normal and soft while the other was tipped with cruel points, black as tar and covered in scales. Moira very carefully and pointedly kept it from touching Angela in any way.

A stark difference from her summertime lover.

"They have an interesting view of you," Angela said, thoughtful. Her gaze flickered up and down, drinking her in. Again and again she kept returning to the massive set of antlers protruding from Moira's brow. "Let me see those!"

Obediently (and perhaps a little bashful?) Moira tilted her head down so Angela could press a finger to one point.

“Interesting,” she said, “Did you grow these to impress me?”  
  
“It just happens. You've never seen me in the winter, or fall." Now Angela could tell she was definitely self-conscious. While Angela didn't offer any opinions, she leapt to her own defense as if Angela had accused her of something. "I’ve never tried to get rid of them before the springtime, but perhaps I can try–”  
  
“No, no, I like them." Her imagination was preoccupied with what Moira had said. Without meaning to, she envisioned how Moira must look like when those antlers were nothing but buds. Her shadows heavy as mud, the air thick with the scent of rutting deer and a rising animal need to prepare for the cold winter months, one last desperate push for life. Bloodied strips of velvet hanging from her, finally exposing white bone. "They’re cute.”

She returned to the present when she realized Moira was watching her carefully. And despite it all, despite the power in those ancient bones, Moira smelled a little bit like fear. She ran her massive clawed hand over her head, smoothing back her blood-red hair. It was cropped short. Angela found it striking, and made her handsome.

"I like you like this," Angela declared. "I can see your face now. Less shadows." She drew a finger over Moira's cheekbone to demonstrate. "More solid."

Moira smiled.

"You must be tired. It's a long journey from home to here." Moira insisted, offering one human arm for Angela to hold onto. Her other hand flexed once, long black claws seeming wet, and sticky. She was bleeding sap, if the scent was any indication. "I can't venture out far, but I'm glad I was able to meet you here at the border."

So many questions rose to her lips. What bound Moira here? Why did it break in the summer? Where did she come from, really? How did she find Angela all those years ago? But she knew the answers to any one of those might put Moira at a disadvantage, and even people like them had their weaknesses, their reasons for keeping secrets.

So she enjoyed Moira in all the ways they couldn't before. Most of all, talking. When Moira came in the summer there was little time for talking. Often she'd arrive in the dead of night, pitch boiling and steaming on her skin even if she carried a chill wherever she went. It was a fire that never touched Angela, one that burned itself out only after Moira enveloped her in tendrils of shadow and grasping claws, too many teeth and mouths and eyes to count.

There was nothing like that now. They talked for hours, with no sense of rush, because Angela would not need to leave in the morning. Moira seemed a lot calmer, and a lot more open to conversation, and it was a delight Angela didn't even know she wanted.

Human settlements were few and far between, but Angela did insist on spying on at least one.

"You like watching them?" Moira wondered, arms crossed.

"Of course I do," she responded. "We watch them every year when you visit me."

"Well," Moira said, "They're generally doing interesting things on festival nights."

Right then they were just living their lives. Isolated people, hardy and accustomed to a bitter winter. Angela found them absolutely darling. She wanted to pluck them like cherries from the stem and eat them whole, and spit out the stone somewhere new and watch it flourish and ripen into new life.

The sound of hammering drew Angela in even closer. She threw the hood on her cape up and became an old woman, hobbling along to glean what she could and satisfy her curiosity. Moira stayed on the outskirts, too monstrous and inhuman to go unnoticed.

Intrigued, Angela looked up at a huge effigy being built. It seemed they were preparing for the winter solstice, a week away. The traditions in her lands involved a lot of drinking and food and staying indoors, but here in Moira's domain, there was something older at play. The effigy looked like a man, almost. Hunched over like a beast, feral and wild.

She eyed the tinder at the base of the effigy, the torches being prepared, and then departed.

Moira was waiting for her, patient and amused. "Did you see anything nice?"

"I think they're worshipping you, dear," Angela said, linking arms with her again. "Or worshipping that monster you appeared as."

"Oh," Moira said, dimly interested. "That. They think burning those things keeps me at bay."

They walked together, but Angela slowed in concern. "Are they that scared of you just because you look different?"

"No. Because I used to hurt them." Moira said. "Not on purpose. Not any more than the bogs mean to swallow what steps in them. I didn't realize what I was doing for a long time. Now I keep to myself, for my sake and theirs.

Angela thought about it. "Fair enough."

Moira brought her to a large estate, almost a castle. She continued explaining as she led Angela inside. It was built long ago, she said, for one of her lovers. "They call me the Lord of Death, if they call me anything at all. My real name has long been forgotten."

Even 'Moira' wasn't her true name, just the one she had given Angela on their first meeting. But that wasn't the detail that stuck out to her _. "...Lord?_ Not Lady?" 

Moira shrugged. "The antlers must throw them off the scent. And every year I used to ask for a young woman in tribute, to ease my burdens."

"So did you eat them or did you fuck them?"

Moira recoiled. "Stars above, Angela! I fucked them, of course."

The estate was well-kept, if dusty from lack of use. Built for humans, but no human hand had seen it in centuries, by her guess. Moira continued her story. "But slowly the girls started getting sick when I touched them. So I barred myself away until she arrived."

At the top of the staircase was a portrait. It was of a young woman, very pale, beautiful, with hair like silk and eyes like a raptor.

"She heard the old stories," Moira said, looking at her portrait for a long while. "And she wasn't afraid."

"And _then_ you ate her."

"No." Mismatched eyes burned, sap bleeding from her monstrous right hand. "But by the time Amélie started changing, I wonder if she wished I had."

Then, dryly amused, she lifted that massive paw and stroked one clawtip through Angela's hair.

"You're very eager to hear stories of my bloodshed, aren't you."

Angela huffed. "You're the one always crowing about how dangerous you are."

"Because I think others should carry a healthy fear of me. I wonder if being sentient makes me more or less dangerous than I had been when I was nothing but shadows. But now I grow tired." Her normal hand rubs the length of her right arm, sighing in frustration. "I'm sorry. I wish I could entertain you longer."

"I'm not a child, Moira. I do not need constant stimulation and supervision."

"But you are a capricious little beast," Moira said. "And I dread to think the mischief that emerges from your boredom."

Ignoring that for now, Angela carefully took Moira's right arm. It tingled her palms, like a limb lacking blood. "This hurts you, doesn't it. I'm very skilled in healing magics. Can I try easing your burdens for a night, my dear dark one?"

Her choice of words was not unintentional, nor did it escape Moira's notice. "This happens every winter. I would rather rest than try and fail to fix this for the umpteenth time."

"That doesn't sound like you," Angela said.

"You don't know me very well, Angela," Moira retorted, not unkindly, and then the shadows thickened around her, grabbing her and swallowing her up.

That night Angela explored the surrounding area, stopping at a crystal-clear lake. She washed herself in the frigid shallows, not yet frozen over. And the water rinsed away foamy blue, her hair stained where Moira had touched her.

 

* * *

 

 

One of the drawbacks of being so far from the wellspring of her power is that now Angela really _did_ need to eat. Moira offered her a selection of the harvest. The ripest fruit, the heart of stags, the fear of a populace strained and mixed into a glass of wine. Far from the gaping sleeves and the loose, plunging necklines she was used to, Moira dressed tightly and severely in her natural habitat. She looked like a block of ice, layered in white fur from the tips of her hooves to the hollow of her milk-white throat, but everything about her gaze was burning as it followed Angela across the room.

"Please," Moira said, without breaking eye contact. "Eat."

For an instant she thought of the tales the humans told each other, the warnings for interacting with their kind. To be wary of gifts accepted or food offered, lest you be stuck in their domain for eternity. That kind of binding would have to be incredibly powerful to work on Angela. If it were woven by Moira in particular, she would have smelled that potent magic in the very air.

Still, in the unlikely event that Moira could break down her guards and trick her that way, such a fate was not so dire.

She took a bite from the offered selection, delicately eating from Moira's hand.

The duality of Moira followed its own cycles. At day, vivacious and cutting, moody and charming. At night she became lethargic, hungry for Angela's touch. But never more than a brief touch. She stroked that claw over her head again, and again she left an odd trail behind like a streak of blue paint. She realized the hand was not black but midnight blue, a shade so dark as to almost be indiscernible.

Curious, Angela drew Moira's palm over her chest. It left a blue handprint behind.

"What is this?" she wondered. When the streak dried, it peeled away and left the spot bright red instead. It didn't hurt, far from it. But it was unusual. "I think you're leaking magic, Moira. Have you been giving back enough to the land?"

No answer. Angela made a questioning noise, prompting Moira to speak at last. "Am I what?"

"Giving back," she explained, and told Moira about her own powers. The cycle, the equilibrium, the protection and fertility she infused into her borders.

"No one worships me," Moira said. "They hate me."

"They fear you. There's rituals surrounding you. The fixation is the same." Daring closer, she took Moira's weeping hand and rubbed her face against it. It felt warm, unlike the rest of her. A little wet. The tingling increased, pleasurable, like soaking in the devotion of a besotted human. "It's not healthy to hold on to all that, Moira. You need to release it."

Awkwardly, Moira admitted, "...I don't know how?"

So they tried an experiment. Moira liked those.

The winter solstice came quietly. From the walls of Moira's lonely estate, they watched the bonfires rise up, one by one. And they left in the night, Moira taking her stalking, hulking, demonic form, and Angela trotting at her side with white-plumed wings to catch herself if she tripped over the snow.

When the fires burned out, Moira took a branch from every one, in every village. Collecting them, she brought them to a clearing, and used her massive hands to dig a pit. She buried them inside, patting the icy dirt back down, and sealed it with the bleeding sap from her right hand.

She accepted the offering, in her own way. And as the days stretched on, she said to Angela that the pain was not so bad.

 

 

 

_The next few years passed like that._

_In the summer Moira would emerge from the shadows in a blaze of confidence and arrogance, consuming Angela like the hungry beast she was._

_And in the winter, if you were unlucky, you could see them on their walks together. The humans spotted Moira more frequently than ever, though always at a great distance. An angel followed in the Lord's shadow as the great antlered beast stalked the rime, soothing wretched tempers with a gentle hand on one hairy hide._

_So there was only one explanation for his sudden bouts of mercy._

_The Lord of Death had taken a bride._

 

 

The borders expanded with Moira's growing power. The human settlements appeared, first one, then many. The rituals morphed from fearful pleas for mercy, into a warm celebration of the coldest months, and a grateful cry to the Lord who watched from in between the trees.

The cold gray stones of Moira's lonely estate seemed to warm with her arrival. She knew her way across the lands now, knew where Moira would be waiting for her. The humans who she had chosen to serve her built a high fire in the banquet hall, and she could see life had sprung up in the months since her last visit.

"Angela." Moira greeted her, hands deep in her billowing sleeves.

"You're looking healthier than ever," Angela noted, patting Moira's gaunt cheekbones as she came for her yearly visit. She reached higher, giving Moira's antler a pointed little tug to bring her close. "Kiss me."

They kissed, Moira's claw dragging down her back and leaving a bright blue mark. That never stopped, though neither of them really minded. The resulting stains always faded to red, then yellow, like a bruise, and then vanished into crumbling dust.

Drawing back, Moira kissed her cheek. "Mmm. You taste like a drop of sunshine, godling."

Angela smiled, rubbing her hands through Moira's freshly cropped hair. It was soft, red as blood. She liked her hair in the winter, a parallel to spring's shorn sheep. "Shall we go see the bears slumbering in their dens?" Angela had no bears in her lands and loved seeing them hibernating with their cubs.

"Your humans have become very noisy," she added. "I was walking here and no less than three of them were building little shrines on the road with my face on–!"

Moira interrupted her with another kiss, clinging to her. Surprised, Angela held onto Moira's collar, opening her mouth to the kiss. Overflowing magic spilled from her, leaving marks like fresh blue woad on Angela's skin.

"Moira–"

"I'm coming home with you." Shocked into silence, Angela just stared up at her, wide-eyed. Moira kissed both her cheeks, her shadows wrapping around Angela in a tighter embrace. "If you want, Angela. The next full moon after you leave. I'll travel by night, and spend it with you."

Angela had to crane her neck back with the force of Moira's next kiss. It felt like Moira during summer, claiming and possessive. Soon she was painted all over her face and shoulders, clothes soaked blue and creamy white, and Moira's claws were ripping at her furs, exposing her chest to sharp teeth.

Confused but not displeased, Angela shivered when she felt Moira's shadows take shape behind her. They snaked over her body, tugging away the rest of her clothes until she was bare. Skin exposed to cold air, she rested more of her weight on them until it felt like she was sitting back, resting on nothing at all.

Two of them nudged her legs open wider and she allowed it, breathless, clutching onto Moira's robes for balance.

"I thought you weren't strong enough to leave...?" she managed to say, then her words stuttered and turned into whimpers when another tendril of darkness slicked between her thighs, leaving behind a wet blue stripe. It dried up and peeled away almost at once, and an angry red mark remained.

A dripping tendril ventured further, licking her folds and spreading them to its ministrations. That faint tingling was more intense on her cunt and on her clit, excess magic painting her with the proof of Moira's power. Moira watched her, enthralled, soaking in her every reaction as the shadows started to suck and stroke, holding Angela midair with a dark cloud around every joint.

"I think you make me strong," Moira said, excitement in her breath. "I know our arrangement is that I sate your needs on the summer solstice only, but..."

Angela didn't even let her finish. "Yes!" Her fists twisted harder into Moira's clothes, dragging her closer. This was so much, so suddenly, but she'd be damned if it didn't rouse her blood and her appetite. Only Moira could sate her, she knew. Only someone aching with power, with no way to release it except through her own skin. "Please, yes."

Moira's left hand fumbled for the laces on her trousers while the beastly claw grabbed Angela again, massive enough to cover her entire torso. Moira kept her in place, with shadowy limbs and pointed claws, and lifted Angela high enough to rub her swollen cock against the god's cunt. Slick with her own arousal, she felt empty until Moira filled her up in one smooth movement that gave way to steady thrusts.

"Yesss," Angela's voice sounded like a hiss to her own ears, every inch of her contracting in pleasure with every hurried movement. "Yes, _yes_."

A growl filled her throat, hands scrambling to try and undress Moira, but the dark creature was overwhelming, there was too much of her to touch at once. Every frantic movement had Angela on the precipice of losing her balance. Moira stood between her legs, forcing them open wider to accommodate all of her, thrusting as the shadows groped and sucked. She tensed up, coming hard when Moira's real hand joined the shadows, roughly rubbing her clit. Moira fucked her through her orgasm, unrelenting until Angela whimpered for her to stop.

Sweating and gasping, Moira did. Angela was wrapped around her with arms and legs, intimately linked with Moira's cock still throbbing inside of her. Aftershocks of her orgasm made her twitch and squirm, clenching tight.

"That feels heavenly, Angela. I'm getting jealous." Moira let out a haunting little croon. "If I give myself a cunt will you promise to return my very generous attentions?"

"Greedy," Angela accused her fondly, her hand shaking as she pushed her blonde hair out of her face. "Where did my winter-Moira go, and who is this that's replaced her?"

"A monster," Moira growled and playfully nipped at Angela's shoulder, just shy of drawing blood.

The idle movement made Moira sink deeper into her, and she shuddered, aware of how sore she was getting. Even a god had their physical limits, and Moira was forcing her to test every single one. Still she held her midnight lover tight, grasping the back of her neck, fisting into her cropped hair. 

"I want to feel you come inside me first," Angela said in a husky whisper. "I want you just like this. I want the winter-Moira."

And for an instant, Angela caught a glimpse of what a real monster might look like. Moira lost control in her excitement, forgetting which shape to take, forgetting which part of her was on display, forgetting if it was winter or summer. Her body rippled like a mirage, jaw filled with rows of teeth. Then Angela was forced facedown, a soft human hand on her head, a claw gripping the ground next to her.

Moira was so big like this. She could only make sense of her in pieces. In the clatter of a hoof bracing on the floor, a hot breath on her ear. Moira pushed in deeper, deeper, until Angela was sure she'd never bottom out. Then the coarse hair that covered her belly brushed against Angela's ass, and then she was lost. She cried with every movement, sensitive after already coming once.

The shadows wrapped around her in a loose embrace, tender where Moira was rough, giving where Moira was demanding. Every pass of skin on skin was leaving marks now, not abrasions but dripping paint, in every color. A riot of autumn bounty and wealth, clear blue like a summer day, purple like the cloak of a queen.

She took it all, letting it soak into her skin, her very soul. Every inch of her was ablaze, and only burned hotter at Moira's hoarse laughter. "Do you enjoy me like this, Angela?"

Talking was out of the question, so Angela just nodded and moaned approvingly, hoping that would be enough. If Moira wanted to talk, she could talk, but right then Angela needed all of her focus just to breathe. The creature was heavy on top of her, not crushing or resting all of her weight on Angela, but definitely making herself comfortable at Angela's expense.

"How does it feel?" Moira demanded. A long, wet tongue stroked over the shell of her ear, followed by another rough laugh. "Little godling. Do your pet humans fuck you like this? Do they shove their fists inside of you while you squirm and wish for my cock instead?"

A ragged gasp.

"Use your words." When Moira stilled as if to punish her, or deny her (or in a moment of mercy, give her room to breathe?) Angela just took the opportunity to work a hand between her legs. She reached to where Moira was plunged deep inside of her, stroked the base of her cock.

Then she turned her attention to her own clit, rubbing herself and rocking backward onto Moira. Captured as she was, her range of movement was limited, but she could get what she needed, and it spurred Moira to begin moving again too.

"Damn it, godling." Moira twitched, pushing in and out in short, needy thrusts. She snarled again, on the edge of losing all control if her rough grip on Angela's head was any indication. "You're a bloodthirsty fiend yourself, you know. You're a monster to me, a witch to me, godling. _Fuck!"_

Filthy oaths accompanied every exhale, louder and more ragged, and then a groan of surprise when Angela came again, squirming and writhing against the coarse, furry body pinning her down.

"Angela." The filthy words vanished, replaced by her name spoken with all the adoration of a priest at the altar. A strained growl, and then her name again, trembling, dropping from Moira's mouth in a chant. "Please, I'm going to come. Tell me. I need to hear your voice."

"I love– Moira, I–" _I love your cock. I love your fingers inside of me. I love your wicked tongue and every horrific shape you take, every extra limb and burning eye._ That's what she wanted to say, but the words couldn't make their way out. She choked, losing herself. "I love– I love– _you–_ I love _you_ , Moira, I–"

She did. And not just on the summer solstice. Not just one day a year. She craved Moira every morning, she wanted to drink from her like the deepest cup. She loved her bitter laughter and hearing her low rumbling voice. She loved the secrets Moira shared with her, their walks together where they learned everything they could about each other. For now she settled with a cry of delight when Moira released inside of her, screaming with need like an animal in heat, come filling her until she was dripping from more than just sweat and magic.

Panting, she stayed like that until Moira slipped free of her. She caught her breath eventually, sitting up and twisting around to see Moira grinning down at her.

"What?" she said, voice turning prim. It was difficult when she was still recovering from being fucked senseless, but she did her best.

Moira's grin widened. "You love me."

A heavy pause as Angela struggled to reply. She had definitely _thought_ it, but was mortified to realize she'd said it out loud. "Well...don't you love _me?"_ she parried.

And that beastly woman smiled, jagged teeth making even a gentle expression look like a threat.

"Of course I do," Moira said, angling her head back for another kiss. "More than air. More than the blood in my veins."

Melting with affection, Angela forgot to be afraid, or nervous, or anything except smitten. She lost herself in kisses, reaching between them and mumbling happily to find Moira had shifted again. She was wet, grinding on Angela's palm until she grew restless and shimmied down between her lover's legs.

Then she got to drink from Moira like she wanted, nose brushing against thick red hair and inhaling the scent of her. She had none of her sexual aids or toys, didn't think to bring one or spin one out of magic, but she had her hands and that was more than good enough. Moira accepted her easily, huffing hard as Angela worked her to her peak again.

Moira painted Angela's face with arousal, clear and slick. Her lips enveloped Moira where she was most sensitive, intent on bringing her as much pleasure as possible. No teasing here. She needed to feel Moira come again, this time with three of Angela's fingers inside. She let out a little moan of satisfaction to feel it, rippling, pulsing with a steady heartbeat as Moira clenched around her. 

If it were the summer solstice, maybe they would have continued after that.

But they were in no rush, and didn't need to squeeze the most out of every minute.

They rested on the floor, curled up together. And in the distance, a bonfire lit up. First one, then many, until they rivaled all the stars in heaven, stretching across from the roof of the world to the darkest valley, all the way until the horizon.

 And so it was every winter solstice.

 

 

 

_...And equinox, and full moon, and then, one night,[Moira just never left.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sg8w4P9TCwo)_

 

 

 


End file.
